


The Ever-Living Ghosts of What Once Was

by patientalien



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drugs, King Loki (Marvel), M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Self-Destruction, The Unworthy Thor (2017) #5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/pseuds/patientalien
Summary: Loki is desperate to avoid his fate. Thor is desperate to forget his own downfall. Together, they desperately cling to something to keep them afloat. For Loki, it's heroin. For Thor... well, it might just be Loki.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citizenjess (givehimonemore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/gifts), [CalamityCain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/gifts).



> Phew. I've had this in my head for a bazillion years, ever since first reading the Loki: Agent of Asgard series and seeing Loki's gradual downward spiral over the course of other recent comic canon. Then I read The Unworthy Thor run and, uhhhhhh. This happened.
> 
> Please heed the tags. This isnt a super happy story, but it ends a little more nicely than some of my other fare. I will probably write more in this verse, jsyk. 
> 
> Thank you to citizenjess and calamity_cain for their cheerleading and insight. 
> 
> Title is from "No One's Gonna Love You" by Band of Horses.

Loki had told him once, after all of the business with being deemed unworthy, with losing Mjolnir, that sometimes being unworthy could be freeing. Thor hadn’t felt the same way at the time, though he has gotten quite used to not worrying about it as much. Yes, the loss of Mjolnir still tugs at him, and he still reaches for her in times of duress, but his new axe is almost as good (so he lies to himself, another habit picked up from his ever-mercurial brother) and, well, nobody in Las Vegas has yet to say no to the God of Thunder. So he gambles and he drinks and he fucks and sometimes he saves the world. Perhaps he should have taken Loki's advice sooner. Speaking of Loki…

Normally, if Loki wants to be found, he seeks out Thor directly. He will appear in a flash of green in whatever new guise he has created for himself and try to cajole Thor into one slightly underhanded dealing or another and then he will disappear again, going wherever it is that reincarnated chaos deities go when they are not actually being agents of chaos. Thor has long since stopped thinking of his brother as malicious – never truly did, if he were to be honest – but Loki does tend to bring mayhem in his wake.

Which is why Thor is absolutely stunned to find Loki – or someone who very strongly resembles Loki's current incarnation – propped up against the wall in the alley Thor has decided to piss in. It’s a good thing the urge wasn’t particularly urgent- more a matter of clearing room for more weak Midgardian ale – because he is fairly certain there would have been need for new trousers otherwise.

He steps closer to the person-who-might-be-Loki, just to check. To make sure. And even if it isn't Loki, Thor isn't so far removed as a hero that he won't help someone who looks like they might be in need of, well, help. But when he gets closer, sees the ratty green trench despite the oppressive desert heat, the black fingerless gloves, the mop of unkempt black hair… “Loki,” Thor says, and Loki manages to raise his head, green eyes bloodshot and bleary. “What are you doing here?” Thor demands next, gripping Loki's shoulders tightly, trying to figure out what is happening.

Loki blinks and pulls away, confusion painted across his sharp, yet sunken, features that look far too young on someone whose eyes are so old. He trips over his own feet and lands in a heap on his ass, hands splayed behind him.

He looks… awful. And Thor has seen Loki in many awful situations. “Here,” Thor says, holding out a hand. “I'm not going to hurt you, brother. I am here to help. What has happened?” Because now it seems clear that something has. Loki's clothes are torn from more than simple wear, and his eyes won't focus. He seems barely aware of his surroundings, barely conscious of Thor's presence. “Did you mean to come find me?” he prods.

This manages to elicit a response, at least. Loki reaches out for the offered hand and lets Thor pull him upright, sagging heavily against the thunder god. “Found you,” Loki slurs, and Thor’s gut clenches.

“What is wrong with you?” he demands, manhandling Loki out of the alley as he realizes his plans for the foreseeable future may need some adjustments. It could be any number of things ailing his brother, after all, and despite Thor's overall indifference to most things since losing Mjolnir, he certainly does not wish Loki to suffer. Loki waves him off clumsily as Thor walks them back the way he had come, down the long block towards his apartment building.

It isnt nice, but it's close to the Strip, and nobody dares mess with the huge man with an axe living in 7A. “Have you been here?” Thor asks, because the moves and the running – from himself, from Jane, from his failure – are all starting to blur together.

Loki shakes his head and lets Thor guide him to the lift – he normally takes the stairs, but Loki does not seem particularly capable of advanced motor functions at the moment. “Was that boat,” he says and it almost doesn’t make sense until Thor remembers his little houseboat. “I think. Memory's…” Loki flits his fingers around the side of his head to illustrate his predicament.

Thor juggles the key with keeping Loki upright and they both tumble into the apartment nearly atop one another. Okay. Now he can figure out what, exactly, is going on. “Sit,” he orders, pointing at the thrift store sofa and busies himself getting Loki a glass of water. “Now, perhaps you could tell me what is happening?” With Loki, it could be almost anything. This could simply be a ruse, though to what ends, Thor isn't sure.

Loki shakes his head, though he has managed to make it to the sofa. “Nothing,” he says. “Coincidence. Didn't know you'd be here.” Thor isn't sure he believes that; Loki has always had an uncanny sense of where Thor is at any given time. Still, his brother does not seem fully in control of his faculties at the moment.

“Are you drunk?” Thor asks, pressing the glass of water into Loki's hand. He has seen Loki drunk, plenty of times, and it doesn't look like this – though Thor has learned through his own experience that some Midgardian liquors do not mix well with non-Midgardian constitutions.

Loki shakes his head again. “Nothing to worry about,” he says, waving Thor off with the hand not gripped around the glass. “I’m feeling a little under the weather.” He drinks from the glass for a moment, then sets it down on the pressboard coffee table. “May I sleep on your couch?” he asks. “Just for tonight, then I will leave you to your…” He gestures vaguely to their shoddy surroundings, so very different from their shared upbringing on Asgard.

Thor is still only half-convinced that this isn't some kind of trick, some part of a greater scheme, but the only way he can know for sure is to spend what time he can in Loki's company. That does not, however, mean that he is not going to bed. “I want to talk to you in the morning,” he says, not entirely certain that Loki will even be here in the morning. Or if he's even here right now at all. He truly, truly wishes he could trust his best-beloved's intentions.

“Alright,” Loki replies, looking already half asleep slumped on the saggy cushions the color of mustard.

Thor stands there until Loki’s breathing slows, then stomps back into his bedroom, resisting the urge to slam the door. He's not angry with Loki, not specifically. He's angry because every time Loki shows up, something new explodes and Thor is left picking up the pieces. At least asleep, Loki cannot cause trouble. Still, Thor spends a restless hour tossing and turning and trying not to be unsettled by the strange blurred look in his brother's eyes, so different from how he has looked recently.

Thor only realizes he has fallen asleep when he suddenly isn’t anymore. For a moment, he isn’t sure what woke him. Not panic, because Jarnbjorn is not in his hand, but something else. Light coming from beneath his bedroom door, and a smell he knows is marijuana and another that isn’t familiar.

Well, at the very least, his brother is smoking his weed and that alone deserves a conversation while Thor is pissed about it.

It’s only his self-imposed vow to protect Loki that he does not bring the axe into the living room with him, if only to scare his brother. As it is, it seems his mere presence has scared his brother, as Loki fairly jumps to his feet, dropping whatever was in his hands before Thor interrupted. Loki has clearly found Thor's bong – shaped like Mjolnir, a gift from Barton – and his somewhat meager stash of shitty weed, but Thor ignores all of that, mad as he is about it. Or maybe not. Maybe he's amused, because of course Loki would gravitate towards a version of Mjolnir that he could actually make use of.

Regardless, he reaches Loki in two long strides and lifts him by the collar of his jacket, looking down at his feet to see… is that a lightbulb with the filament removed? “What the Hel is this?” Thor asks, picking it up and peering at the scorch marks on the outside of the glass and the brown chunk of… something… inside the bulb.

Loki remains silent, so still he is nearly trembling. “WHAT IS THIS?” Thor bellows, already knowing – if not the specifics, then the broad strokes – and furious for reasons he does not know.

After a moment, Loki seems to regain his senses. He sniffs, and tilts his chin up regally, as if he is still Prince of Asgard instead of Prince of Lies (and destruction and evil but that’s not this Loki, Thor reminds himself). “Really, brother? Are you still so naïve?” His eyes sparkle with amusement, brighter and clearer than they had been when Thor had found him, but with a sharpness to them that speaks of pain. “Though given the quality of your poor excuse for cannabis, I can't say I’m surprised.” He snatches the bulb from Thor's hand and spirits it away into a pocket dimension with a flourish of his hand. “It's none of your business, anyway,” he adds snottily.

Thor takes a deep breath. And then another. When he finally feels like he can speak without screaming, he says, “You make it my business when you pop up unannounced and steal my lightbulbs.” Because he can now see the conspicuous absence of a bulb out of the ceiling fixture that had not previously been missing. “What is this about, Loki?”

Loki glares and hefts not-Mjolnir into his lap, sparking the bowl and taking a deep hit before responding. “I’m trying to…” He exhales, the smoke thick and stale, and he coughs with bone-rattling intensity for a moment. “I cannot become myself,” he says when he is able to speak again. “I am trapped in this cycle and I am trying to break it.” He looks down at his hands, the chipped black polish on his nails. “This seemed like the easiest way. After I tried a few other things.”

Thor scowls deeply, sitting down beside Loki with a heavy grunt and reclaiming not-Mjolnir for himself. “Easier?” he snorts. “Tell me, brother, do you truly believe this?” Surely Loki could not be so foolish.

Loki takes a breath. And then he explains, really explains, in a tone that reminds Thor painfully of the child he had resurrected. The child the Loki before him had killed. Which, of course, is one of the many things Loki laments, his guilt and his grief and his fear of the Self that lies many years into the future yet manages to torment him with visions and flame. He cries over his fate, the way he had been used by the All-Mother as their pawn. “That's all I am and all I'll ever be,” he moans into his hands. “And I can’t, so I thought… is feeling good and keeping myself from true thought such a bad thing?” He looks at Thor with wide, trusting eyes. “If I can save the universe this way, what harm is there?”

Thor sits there for a long stretch of horrible silence, trying to make sense of all of it. Has he truly been so blind? Did he truly not realize how Loki is suffering? It is like they are children again, Thor turning a blind eye and ear to the taunts and jeers even from those who called themselves Loki's friends. If Loki wishes to break that cycle, so then must Thor. And… frankly… Loki is not wrong. Whatever drug is hiding just within a rift in space-time could not possibly cause as much harm as Loki himself could if left to fulfill his destiny, to complete the Ragnarok cycle over and over again.

Thor takes a hit from the bong and sets it back on the table. “At least stay with me,” he offers, because truly there is no other solution. If Loki stays, Thor will be able to protect him, will be able to see for himself the feasibility of Loki's plan. Besides… he always does miss his brother when they are apart.

“Only if you don't lecture me or make me stop,” Loki counters sharply. “If I wanted that, I would go back to Verity.” Ah. So there is at least one other person who knows what’s going on, but someone who doesn’t know Loki the way Thor does. “But fine, I guess.”

It's a start, at least.

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An understanding is reached

Realizing that his plans to go win some beer money on the Strip likely will need to wait – he isn’t ready to leave Loki alone in his apartment, and he still doesn’t know quite enough about what his brother is doing to himself to trust him out in public. And since there is no pressing need to be elsewhere, Thor sleeps in a little.

When he wakes again, it is mid morning and Loki is sprawled on the sofa, one arm draped over his chest, the other flung back over his head. His mouth is open slightly, his eyes half-lidded. Not asleep, then. “Hey!” he shouts. For some reason… for some reason, seeing Loki turn his head painfully slowly towards him, his gaze dull and stupid, makes something stir deep in his gut. He is not yet sure if the stirring is good or bad.

“Hmm?” Loki responds, sluggish. He looks as if he hasn’t slept all night, and Thor realizes he probably was up all night, with the…

“You didn’t tell me last night,” Thor says, not bothering to mention that he hadn’t asked, “what exactly you are putting into your body.” Thor knows technically he is not taking care of himself well these days either, but Loki looks positively wrecked. Besides, Thor figures he deserves to know what Loki clearly has no qualms about using openly in his own fucking living room.

Loki blinks, but each time it seems like his eyelids stay a little more closed. “I believe the common term is heroin,” he says, and Thor frowns deeply. He has been on Midgard long enough now to know what Loki is talking about. Still, if Loki's intention is oblivion, he has made a good choice. “I will need to… procure more, at some point,” he adds, words blurring together as he dozes off.

* * *

 

Thor busies himself around the apartment for a while, deciding that it's about time to clean up a little bit. It isn't as though he's been living in squalor, but sometimes fast food containers and liquor bottles don’t make it to the garbage can.

A couple hours later and the apartment is as spotless as it can possibly get, with the water stains on the ceiling and threadbare carpets, and Loki is still dead asleep, drooling a little onto the arm of the couch. Sitting in the recliner across from the sofa – the only nice piece of furniture in the place, it even gives massages – Thor wonders if this is truly how Loki believes he can escape what the Norns have already woven for him.

Not that Thor is much a believer in destiny anymore, but he knows he and his are but smaller pieces in a much larger game. He has come to accept this, but it is very obvious that Loki cannot. Thor couldn’t possibly ask him to, either, not after everything that has happened. So, then, this. He uses his phone to Google information about Loki's drug of choice, brow furrowing at how… judgmental it all seems, how moralistic. Well, that’s humanity for you, he thinks as he reads, glad for once that he had allowed himself to be taught how to use this tiny device to access the wealth of Midgard's information. 

By the time Loki starts to stir, Thor has decided that he is going to go along with Loki's plan, if only to spare his brother more pain. If anything, these actions simply prove that this Loki could not possibly be the Other Loki anymore – THAT Loki would never feel so guilty over his part in the cruel machinations of the universe.

* * *

 

Loki wakes up with a sharp gasp, a dagger materializing in his hand. Thor jumps up in alarm, calling Jarnbjorn to his hand with a sharp crack of thunder, but Loki doesn’t attack. Instead he jabs upward with the dagger, then rolls off the sofa and onto one knee, dagger out in a defensive position that sends a burst of recognition and familiar longing through Thor's chest.

He leans the axe against the wall, realizing that Loki is not actually a threat, and cautiously steps forward, plucking the dagger from Loki's hand and setting it on the table. “Hey,” he says. “You're okay. Nobody's going to hurt you.” It hasn’t always been the case, and clearly Loki has taken this lesson to heart.

Loki blinks himself back to full awareness. “Apologies,” he says, giving a full body shudder. “Unpleasant dreams.” He waves his hand and the dagger on the table vanishes. “What time is it?” He blinks again, scratches the back of his neck. Even after sleeping most of the day away, he still looks exhausted.

“Time for a late lunch or early dinner,” Thor replies, feeling suddenly and unwantedly uncomfortable. He is used to Loki in all manner of mood; from psychotically, violently delusional to deep melancholy… none of his moods are ever terribly pleasant, but he had seemed… Well, he had seemed to be getting better. Changing. And so he still is, Thor reflects, always a changeling, always shifting himself to as to best survive. This… this is simply more of the same, Thor reminds himself.

“Hmm,” Loki responds, reaching for the grinder and the bong that had been left on the table overnight. “I’m not particularly hungry, but by all means eat if you are.”

Not that Thor wouldn’t have fed himself without Loki's permission. Instead of saying that, or pointing out the obvious reason for Loki's lack of appetite, Thor nods and pulls up the online ordering for a local pizza place, putting in a frankly obscenely large order and trusting that he has enough on his cash left over from yesterday's winnings to cover it.

Because even if Loki isn’t hungry now, he might be later. “If you’re planning on smoking all my weed, you had better be intending to replace it,” he informs Loki.

Loki rolls his eyes as he packs a new bowl and hands it to Thor. “Of course I am,” he says with the barest hint of a snap in his tone. He rubs a hand down his face and shudders a little. “I’ve got to get… I have enough of a bag to get me through tonight, but I need to go out tomorrow. Early as possible.”

Well, that kind of works out. Thor can make back the money he's spending tonight, they can get some groceries or something… He decides not to ask how Loki intends to pay for his own purchases. It will likely come up; while Loki had a knack for getting what he needs by whatever means he can, Thor has gleaned enough from his afternoon of reading that his brother has not developed a cheap habit. Still, it’s very possible that Loki is merely conjuring Midgardian currency for himself, and it is this thought that allows Thor to push the concern from his mind.

“You’ll be okay?” Thor asks, wincing inwardly when he realizes how condescending it sounds, especially when his own plans include getting royally hammered – pun fully intended – and playing the tables until he has enough cash for rent on this shithole and to feed himself and Loki.

Loki rolls his eyes again and accepts the bong Thor hands back to him after taking a deep hit. At least Loki might be able to score some better weed. It’s not something Thor particularly seeks out and he wouldn’t know good quality from a hole in the ground. “Yes, oh Mighty Thor,” he taunts. “I’m not an idiot, in case you’ve forgotten.” No. Thor certainly hasn’t forgotten. He lets the matter drop, and they smoke the bowl in silence until the pizza arrives. Loki eats four slices.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Loki develop a routine. Thor starts to develop feelings. Loki develops another bad habit.

They part ways outside the building the next morning. Thor gives Loki his cell number ‘just in case' and the spare key to the apartment, and heads to the Strip to make his money for the month. He tries not to think too hard about it, about how he had once been Prince of Asgard, Worthy, Mighty, Beloved. That Loki, too, had been royalty. They are gods, near-immortal, and yet this is what such power and prestige has brought them: Hustling in casinos and smoking heroin out of a broken lightbulb.

He drinks enough to forget about all of it for a while, and returns back to the apartment several hours later with much heavier pockets and the spins. He is not overly surprised to see Loki has already returned – or maybe he is surprised that Loki came back. Maybe nothing Loki does surprises him anymore.

There are tiny foil packets spread across the table, the bulb and a lighter resting alongside them. On the TV, some nature documentary is playing. On the couch, Loki is curled on his side with his knees drawn to his chest, watching the show with pinpoint pupils and a slack look on his face.

There's that weird stirring in his guts again. This time Thor decides to blame the alcohol and stumbles to his chair, digging a few wads of cash out of his pockets to toss onto the table along with everything else. “Loki?” he prods. “You there?”

Loki glances at him for a moment before his eyes slide back to the television. “I’m here,” he says thickly, as if his tongue is several sizes larger than usual. “Good day?” His eyes slide shut and he jerks himself back to alertness. “Sorry. Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” Oh, so Loki apparently is capable of feeling shame.

Thor waves him off, too drunk to really be worried about what Loki did with himself while Thor was gone. “Yeah. Good day. You?”

As if how Loki's day had gone isn’t perfectly obvious by the blissed out god of mischief curled up on the couch. “Mmm,” Loki says, and nods off.

 

* * *

 

 

 

They settle into a sort of routine. Every couple of days, they both leave the apartment, Thor to the Strip and Loki to… well, he hasn’t offered up the information, and Thor hasn’t asked, but he always returns with a bag of weed and enough heroin – smack, junk, whatever – to make it through to their next outing. One time, he comes home with all of that plus a used X-Box and a few two-player games.

Thor isn’t sure what he had expected, in all of this. He knows how to handle Loki, of course, but this Loki is… different. While clearly struggling with what is happening in his mind, he manages to actually be pleasant company the bulk of the time. They take to cooking meals together, watching movies and television – to Thor's great surprise, one of Loki's favored shows is a comedy set in a small town in midwestern America.

To Thor's eyes, Loki is truly putting in an effort at some kind of normalcy. He isn’t strung out all the time, and seems to go out of his way to avoid using the heroin where Thor can see, even if he is constantly smoking weed or drinking Thor's liquor. It's almost peaceful, and Thor can almost forget what is behind Loki's reappearance in his life.

Or, rather, that’s the case for the first month. Then, something shifts, and everything turns to shit.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing to go missing is the X-Box. “It broke,” is Loki's only explanation when Thor inquires about it. Thor has a feeling that’s a lie – hard not to assume, when one is dealing with the God of Lies. Oh, no. Sorry, the God of Stories (and what is a story if not a well-crafted lie?). Still, he doesn’t push. Even after a month of harmonious co-existence, he still expects Loki to take off at any time. And, well, he's gotten used to having his brother around again.

Slowly, things start to disappear, and in their place are greater quantities of foil packets, larger bags of weed, more bottles of cheap booze. Thor isnt an idiot, and manages to buy back most of what Loki has pawned. Of course, Loki turns right back around and steals it again.

After a week of buying back his television every single morning, Thor has had enough. “I said you could stay here,” he says, probably nastier than he would have had he not been drinking all day, “not steal my shit. Cut it out, you need money just fucking ask for it.” He had been assuming this whole time that Loki had his own independent source of funding, even if it was underhanded. Apparently that well has run dry, and Thor would rather just give him the cash outright than have to make the trek to the pawn shop every damn day. He dreads the day he finds Jarnbjorn missing.

“I don’t need your charity,” Loki snarls. “I’m sorry about the television. I’ll find another way.” Thor doesn’t miss the full body shiver that runs down Loki's spine, or the thin sheen of sweat on his brow, but he's too pissed right now to say anything. If Loki wants to talk, Loki can grow the fuck up and talk. For an immortal being who has been alive for centuries, Loki sure has a knack for acting like a spoiled child.

Not that Thor is much better. He knows this, of course, but anger is a much more fortifying emotion than self-recrimination, and right now he's angry. Unfortunately, the anger is partially directed at himself. He had assumed this would be easy, that nothing Loki could do at this point would bother him quite as much as the things he had already done.

He had done his research on what Loki is doing, and he still is surprised by this behavior. Thor feels stupid, which is something he is not unused to, where Loki is concerned. “You'd fucking better,” he snaps, and flips on the newly-rebought television, pointedly ignoring Loki until he passes out halfway through the evening news.

His dreams are of flames and of Loki – the Other Loki – standing over the ruins and broken bodies of Asgard, horned helm gleaming in the red and orange glow, laughing. He jerks awake and sees fire.

It takes a moment to realize that it is simply from a candle that Loki is currently hunched over, holding a spoon just above the flame in a shaking hand. Thor finds himself transfixed as he watches what happens next: Loki uses an orange-capped syringe to stir whatever is in the spoon (as if Thor doesn’t know), plops a tiny piece of a cotton ball into the mixture, uncaps the syringe. He watches as Loki wraps his belt around his upper arm, watches as the needle sinks into a vein. Watches as Loki’s face changes almost immediately, as he leans back against the couch cushions, barely aware enough to tug the needle from his arm, a slow trickle of blood running down the crook of his elbow.

“What happened to the lightbulb?” Thor asks once he thinks he can speak. That strange stirring, which he now recognizes as a kind of warm… something… returns to his guts, and he tamps it down, unwilling to examine the sensation or the source.

Loki turns bleary eyes to him. “It stopped working,” he drawls. “This is… so much… better.” And he's out like a light. Or, Thor thinks, covering Loki with a blanket, a candle.

Tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably point out here that I dont have any personal experience with heroin addiction, beyond knowing a few people who struggle with it. I am doing my best to portray Loki as sympathetically realistic as possible, but if there is anything I have gotten horribly wrong or mischaracterized, please let me know. 
> 
> Also the thing with the TV may have come from "Requiem for a Dream" and the show referenced may be "Parks and Rec".


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor makes a big mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence in this chapter, along with some extremely dubious consent issues.

They return to their routine, and Loki is actually true to his word: nothing else turns up missing. They do start leaving the apartment every day instead of a few times a week, mostly because Loki claims he has gotten a job and if Loki isn’t there, Thor doesn’t want to sit around their crummy apartment by himself. 

He also is reticent to ask about the nature of Loki's job. Being Vegas, it could be just about anything. Still, it seems to be doing him some good – at the very least he's back to paying for his own increasingly-expensive habit. Thor knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Loki's job couldn’t possibly be legitimate with as often as he is stoned out of his mind, but… well… that’s Loki's business until it becomes Thor's. It’s not as though Thor has a leg to stand on, morally – he’s the one currently calling winning at games of chance his occupation, after all. 

Once, they had been princes.

Loki usually returns home before Thor, so Thor isn’t surprised to be hit in the face with the reek of pot smoke when he opens the door to the apartment. Good thing it's legal and popular here, he thinks, or he and Loki would be drawing an awful lot of attention to themselves with that. He listens, as has become custom, for the sounds of Loki moving around. 

He hears the shower running, the sound of Loki's phone playing some kind of psychedelic music from the bathroom. Remaining still, Thor doesn’t breathe until he hears the sound of Loki putting something down on the shower ledge. After the first time he had found Loki convulsing on the floor of the bathroom, lips and eyelids and fingertips blue, he had – once he'd used his atrophied powers to restart his brother's heart – done more research. Had made Loki promise to only shoot up in the bathroom if he left the door open. Had procured multiple doses of Narcan. So, it’s not as though one could blame him for worrying.

Nor could one blame him for standing in the hallway, watching Loki emerge from the steaming shower stall, all languid movement along to the music, as if completely unaware that Thor is there. Of course, he very well might be. Loki's levels of lucidity wax and wane, and Thor cant quite tell where his brother is at the moment, conscious thought-wise. 

He can, however, tell that Loki has been lying to him. Or if not lying outright, then by omission. Covering Loki's arms, his hips, his ass, his thighs, are dark bruises in the shape of hands. There are trails down his back like someone has dug their fingernails into his flesh. Something that looks suspiciously like a cigar burn mars the skin just above his shoulder blade. 

Thor turns away before Loki can turn around, feeling a little sick to his stomach. Though Loki makes him feel stupid at times, Thor truly isn’t, and he knows now how Loki is making his money. Chewing on his lip, uncertain of what to do now, Thor grabs a beer and throws himself into his chair to wait for Loki to emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t know what to say, what to threaten. If he should say or threaten anything at all. This was Loki's idea, all of it. Thor has just agreed to be along for the ride but… but knowing that Loki is allowing himself to be used like that? Thor feels unexpectedly disgusted. Not by Loki, not at all. 

By himself, and the fact thinking about this has given him an aching hard on. 

 

He supposes he should be surprised it all didn’t come to a head sooner. As it is, several more weeks pass before he is forced to give thought to Loki's career choice again. He had done his best in the interim to push the knowledge to the back of his mind, unwilling to start the conversation that he was sure would spark an argument at the least, and Loki's departure at the worst. 

Thor is tired, so very tired, of fighting with his brother. So even though he knows that Loki is selling his body for drugs, that Loki has decided that this kind of oblivion is preferable to what the Norns have willed – is preferable to any of his other attempts to sidestep Fate – he goes along with it. Their co-existence is peaceful for the first time in what feels like centuries, and Thor simply doesn’t have the wherewithal to fight anymore. 

Still, he should have known. He should have realized his own complacency. He should have questioned, even just a little, of what Loki was involved in. Maybe if he had, the outcome would have been different. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t have been shocked to find Loki being pinned against the wall of the same alley Thor had initially found him in, his pants haphazardly pulled down around his knees, long hair wrapped around the fist of a downright enormous man, tears streaming down his cheeks and blood streaming down his arm from a fresh injection. 

Clouds form overhead. 

The skies open.

Lightning flashes and thunder bellows across the caldera of desert. 

In days to come, no one will be able to explain the sudden thunderstorm in the middle of an especially dry Nevada summer, for which Thor will find himself grateful once he has regained his ability to think once again.

But in the present, all he can see is his limp, wasted little brother being brutally assaulted and while he does not have Jarnbjorn – desperately missing Mjolnir in that moment – he still has his fists, and his lightning, and his rage.

The first blow knocks Loki's assailant away from him. The second throws him far down the alleyway. The third slams him against the brick wall, and the forth shatters his cheekbone and nose. The rest render the man nothing more than an unrecognizable mass of meaty pulp burnt to a crisp by a barely-controlled lightning strike. 

Thor doesn’t stop, fists flying, splattering blood and gore all over the alley and himself, unable to think beyond the fact this monster was hurting his brother. Was harming HIS Loki. And for what? So Loki could get his fix? So Fate could be dissuaded? No, no, not on Thor's watch. He doesn’t stop, keeps pounding his sparking fists into what is now ground beef, screaming wordlessly his fury not just at this man who had dared hurt Loki, but at the Norns and the All-Mother and Odin and every rotten thing that has happened to bring them to this place. He doesn’t stop until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

He whirls around, ready to repeat this performance on whatever witness might be there to try and stop him, but sees it is Loki, trembling, looking small and frightened, his pants pulled up but still unbuttoned, his shirt torn, hair in a greasy disarray. Thor lowers his hands and takes a staggering step backwards as the weight of what he has just done settles onto him.

This was not victory in battle. It was not self defense. The man had been hurting Loki, yes, but Thor could have just as easily dispatched him in a non-fatal manner. This was a bersker's rage heightened by alcohol and a growing confusion about his feelings for his brother. This was murder and more than that, it was murder he had taken PLEASURE in. For all he has done to show himself unworthy of his title and his hammer, this merely drives the point home. He will never wield Mjolnir again, after this.

“What have you DONE?” Loki shrieks at him, eyes still a little glassy, but sobered up enough from the shock that he is capable of speech – capable of anger. “You stupid, STUPID, MINDLESS FUCKING OAF! You’ve ruined EVERYTHING!” 

While Thor is struggling to formulate a response, Loki's hands rifle desperately through the man's clothes, coming up with a large bundle of cash and a small brick-shaped package wrapped in plastic and duct tape. Then, Thor watches as Loki begins to glow with the eerie green light of his seidr. His brother is mouthing something under his breath, moving his fingers in a strangely complicated manner. Thor isn’t sure he has ever seen Loki have to use both word and movement to utilize his magic, not since they were but children, though perhaps the extra concentration is necessary. Soon enough, the corpse and the blood are vanished into another dimension, and Thor looks down to find his own hands unsullied. 

“Brother,” he attempts. Loki doesn’t look at him. “Loki,” Thor tries next. The look Loki levels at him could curdle milk, but Thor refuses to be cowed. He was protecting his brother! Why is Loki angry about that? Perhaps Thor had been overzealous – and he knows his guilt over this will take its place with all the rest to eat at him until he draws his final breath. But surely Loki understands why. 

Loki, however, shakes his head. “You absolute idiot,” he seethes. “Do you have ANY idea what you’ve done?” 

Thor shakes his head, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He doesn’t understand, he knows he went too far, but… but Loki's anger isnt about that. “He was hurting you,” he says lamely, unable to explain that seeing Loki in that position, seeing him so vulnerable and hurt, made two very different passions rise up in Thor and he had given action to the one that would cause Loki himself less harm. 

“He was PAYING to hurt me!” Loki exclaims, waving the bundle of cash and the plastic wrapped package in Thor's direction. “He wasn’t even REALLY hurting me! It was fantasy! I was playing along!” Something in Loki's eyes tells Thor that, while possibly based in truth, Loki's words are not entirely accurate. “And now this is all I’m going to be able to get!” He hunches his shoulders and breathes rapidly, nostrils flaring. “You don’t understand. I cant believe I thought you would.” 

Thor shakes his head, taking a few tentative steps towards Loki. “Loki. I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t realize.” He might lose Loki over this, he realizes with a jolt, the thought bringing with it a swell of panic that he doesn’t entirely understand. “Please. How do I fix it?” 

Loki glowers at him, the promise of pain in his bloodshot green eyes. “You fucked with my supply,” he snaps. “You annihilated the main distributor in the city. You know what that means? It means the dealers are gonna go to ground. It means prices will go up. It means you have FUCKED ME OVER and I am SCREWED.” His eyes are watering, his lower lip quivering, anger turning to something akin to fear. “You're going to make me start feeling and thinking again, and we both know how that’s gonna end.”

Thor knows. He knows it will end with Ragnarok, it will end in destruction and misery and Loki lashed with his own entrails to a throne made from the bones of his victims. “I’ll fix it,” he breathes, unable to figure out what else to say, what else to do. He'll find a new supplier. He'll do what he has to in order to pay for it. He'll make sure Loki stays safe. And he'll make sure Loki stays HIS. “I promise you, brother,” he vows, cupping the back of Loki's neck as he had once done, another lifetime ago, “I will make this right.” 

Loki looks down at the prizes in his hands, then back up at Thor. He looks resigned, deflated, his anger making way for exhaustion. “You'd better,” he says, but it lacks any bite. “Let’s go home.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor gets a new job, and a new plaything. Loki gets sick. Nobody is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major consent issues and a cliffhanger...
> 
> The medical stuff in this chapter and the next one is not written by a doctor, just by someone with an unhealthy fascination with such things, so apologies for any errors.

Thor has learned much from his time on Earth, and from his friendships with the Avengers. Knowing, for example, a billionaire industrialist, has taught him that there is always competition waiting to take over market share. While Stark Industries remains at the top of the capitalist dung pile, things are different in the Las Vegas underworld. Where one drug lord falls, another takes his place in short order. It is a relief, then, to find the new top dog fairly easily. It is a relief to know that drugs and flesh are not the only things being peddled.

Violence, too, can make money. Which is how Thor finds himself in an abandoned warehouse surrounded by the truly desperate gamblers willing to bet on men's lives while he pummels a mortal into the concrete. No more true killing, of course. That would draw attention to their games. And Thor is expected to throw a match or two every so often to keep things interesting. But he brings in enough cash to easily barter for what Loki needs, which is the important part.

He is returning home from tonight's bout, pockets heavy with heroin and money to launder, trying to use the bottle of whiskey he had purchased on the walk back to the apartment to quell the remaining bloodlust. It is a terrible truth, he thinks, what becomes of gods when the Fates are meddled with.

Loki is nodding on the sofa, syringe still in his arm. Thor sighs and makes his way over to his brother, gently sliding the needle from the vein and checking to make sure Loki hasn’t overdosed. Their new normal. His fingers brush up Loki's arm, across his cheek, through his hair. Loki lets out a contented sigh and Thor leans down, nose to nose.

Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it’s the fight still riling up the blood. Maybe it’s because he has been fighting this hot desire since Loki had reappeared in his life. Whatever the reason, Thor cannot stop himself from dipping his head down to capture Loki's lips with his. He expects Loki to pull back, or not respond, depending on his level of sobriety, but instead Loki leans into it, lifting his arms to wrap them around Thor's neck to pull him closer. It's all the invitation Thor needs.

 

* * *

 

 

They don’t fuck when Loki is sober. In fact, they rarely fuck when he’s fully conscious at all. Thor takes him as if Loki were a ragdoll, all lolling head and heavy limbs. If Loki were to ever protest, to tell him to stop, to put up any resistance at any time… Thor wants to believe he would stop. That he would pull back and cease the admittedly twisted games they have begun to play. But Loki doesn’t ask him to stop, doesn’t protest.

When he’s lucid, they do not speak of it, though Thor has to believe that Loki knows what is happening. Of course he does. Loki may be hopelessly addicted at this point - to the heroin, to the alcohol, to the weed - but he is still sharp as ever when he wants to be. And if he wanted this to stop, Thor tells himself, he would put a stop to it. But because they don’t talk about it, and because Loki does not push him away, Thor continues.

After each day winning rent and grocery money and each night fighting for his brother’s dope, he comes home drunk and aching to the cold comfort of Loki’s limp body. And Loki - when he does profess anything suggesting he even knows what is happening while he’s in his twilight state - Loki thanks him. He lets Thor shoot him up and lets Thor brush his hair back during the nod, and he thanks Thor for helping him, for trusting him, for getting him what he needs. And then, well, Thor takes what he needs.

It can’t last like this, and Thor knows it. He knows it as well as he knows the names of the Realms, as he knows the feeling of lightning rippling down his limbs. They are in limbo, and sooner or later something will give. Still, is it so wrong, he wonders, to enjoy himself in the meantime? Does he not deserve some of his own comfort, after everything he has been through? It does occur to him that this sort of thinking will never allow him to reclaim his titles or his hammer, but he no longer is certain he needs them. He has Loki, and that should be enough.

“Thor?” Loki is awake, and about as sober as he ever gets anymore, sitting on the sofa wrapped in one of Thor’s hoodies. He looks terribly young and small; the first Loki Thor had known could take up an entire room with his presence if he wanted to. The first Loki Thor had known would never, ever, ever deign to wear Midgardian clothing or watch daytime television. Then again, Thor knows full well what has and will become of the first iteration of his trickster baby brother and somehow - somehow - this still seems like the better alternative.

Thor glances up from his phone, surprised. Loki hasn’t been talking much lately so he hadn’t been expecting any words today either. “You’re awake,” he says, not unkindly. “Are you hungry?” He isn’t sure he remembers the last time either of them have eaten anything substantial. Thor usually loads up at the casino buffet, but his appetite has been off. He could probably pinpoint when it started, but he doesn’t want to think too hard about the reason or the fact it’s guilt rather than hunger gnawing at his belly these days.

Loki shakes his head, limp hair falling into his eyes and he pushes it away with an irritated exhale that sounds like the warning of a rattlesnake. “Not hungry,” he says, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. “Cold.” That brings Thor up short, worry banishing guilt from his innards and rising up in his throat.

Loki is never cold, and it isn’t cold in the apartment anyway. If anything, it’s too warm. “Are you ill?” Thor asks, rising to his feet to join Loki on the sofa. Closer, and without lust fogging his vision, he can see clearly. He can see the sallow gray of Loki's skin, the little sores at the corners of his mouth, the hair that has gone limp, the eyes that have gone rhumey and glossy. The sharp jut of Loki's collarbone, the skin like paper stretched across bone. He looks diminished and helpless and Thor has to fight down the lust that rises once again at that realization. Now isnt the time, least of all because Loki is awake.

Thor can feel heat radiating off his brother, something he has never experienced nor has he ever expected to. His brother is ill, then. “Does it hurt anywhere?” he asks, hoping to the Norns that whatever ails his brother is something they can handle here, together, as opposed to getting anyone else involved. Because that will invite questions that Thor doesn’t want to answer, and that he doubts Loki wants to answer either.

Loki screws up his face slightly and coughs wetly into his blanket. “My arm,” he says after a silence that stretches long enough for Thor to think there was no answer forthcoming.

“Let me see,” Thor prompts. He is no physician (okay, he was once, but that was an entirely different lifetime and it doesn’t help him here), but he still remembers battlefield medicine.

It takes a good deal of coaxing as well as a few slugs of whiskey for Loki to unwrap himself from the blanket and hoodie, keeping everything but his left arm covered up. He always keeps covered up, Thor thinks, and realizes that he has yet to see Loki fully nude in this incarnation. The fact he has been fucking his brother on a regular basis has no bearing; Thor has never done more than pull Loki's pants down just enough to get the job done.

So, Loki's arm comes as a complete surprise. Its covered with track marks, which Thor had expected. It also looks horribly infected, inflamed and swollen, cut through with black spidering lines all coming from one central place: a huge, weeping abscess that looks about ready to burst. Thor's hope for not getting anyone else involved starts to dwindle slightly. Loki needs medical care, whether he wants it or not.

“Hang tight,” Thor says, trying not to sound bothered or worried. “I’ll be right back.” Loki nods and sinks back into his nest of blankets and clothing, while Thor goes and robs a veterinary office.

 

Tbc....


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor practices medicine and the brothers come to a new understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not a doctor. Dont try this at home, kids.

He isn't sure he's ready by the time he returns to the apartment about an hour later, black duffle bag filled with everything he could possibly think of that might help. Antibiotics, obviously. A few scalpels. Rolls and rolls of gauze. Painkillers and anesthetics and surgical draping to keep the disgusting grime of the apartment from making things worse. Suture kit. Several boxes of syringes so Loki doesn’t have to use the same needle over and over again.

Loki eyes him warily when Thor returns and orders him into the bedroom. “I’m not really feeling well enough to be fucked right now,” he murmurs, the words soft but feeling to Thor like a punch in the gut. “Maybe later.” At least he doesn’t sound angry, Thor grimaces.

“We can talk about that when you’re feeling better,” he suggests, hoping by the time Loki is feeling better, he will have forgotten all about it. Norns, what has his life come to? Beset with a heavy feeling of not-quite-sourceless grief, he strips the sheets from the bed and replaces them with one of the neatly-prepackaged surgical drapings.

Loki crawls onto the bed, but he hardly seems reluctant. In fact, he even managed to wiggle his ass playfully before losing his ability to remain any sort of upright. “It's okay,” he tells Thor, yanking his arm out of the hoodie sleeve again. If anything, it appears to have gotten worse in the short time Thor was gone. “I’m surprised you didn’t take the bait sooner.”

Thor scowls, pushing Loki back onto the bed and using one of the new syringes to inject what he thinks is an appropriate amount of numbing agent around the abscess. “We can talk about it later,” he repeats, not sure he likes the implication that Loki has been purposefully making himself… available. Though were that the case, perhaps Thor could stop feeling so guilty.

Loki just nods and watches Thor work. A scalpel cut along the length of the abscess, a little pressure around the cut to squeeze out the infected pus, blood, and tissue. Antibiotics injected directly into the wound before a thorough cleaning-and-stitching, and then another shot of antibiotics into a good vein in Loki's right arm. By the time Thor is done, the room stinks of rot and illness, but Loki's starting to regain some color, and the wound doesn’t look anywhere near as awful.

“You’re using fresh needles from now on,” Thor says firmly as he settles Loki comfortably in the bed. Normally his brother's domain is the couch, but that would simply be cruel. “And you’re going to tell me when you don’t feel well. This plan of yours isnt going to work if you end up dying on me.” Frankly, Thor doesn’t know what will happen if Loki dies, as far as on the level of the cosmic significance of his brother's existence. For him, though… watching Loki die again would kill him too because now there is nothing left for him to return to. No friends, no home, no crown or hammer. No battles to fight or Realms to save. No wrongs to Avenge. The death of Loki would be the death of Thor and quite honestly, Thor is used to living and would prefer to keep doing it in Loki's company for as long as possible.

“Okay,” Loki agrees, and Thor is a little surprised at the lack of argument. “I meant it, by the way,” the god of lies adds, moving slightly and gesturing for Thor to join him on the bed. After a bare moment of hesitation, Thor does, letting Loki rest his head against Thor's broad chest. “You don’t have to wait until I’m asleep to fuck me, you could have just asked.” Thor could argue. He could apologize. He could get up and give Loki space and make dozens of excuses. But all he can feel is relief, so instead he braids and re-braids Loki's hair until he is in a deep, hopefully healing, sleep. Thor does not disturb him until Loki wakes on his own, two days later.

* * *

 

Sleeping for two days straight does two things: it makes Loki wake up in the throes of withdrawal, and it clears up the worst of the infection – especially since Thor has been meticulously cleaning the wound and administering the antibiotics. Luckily, the infection was the most pressing and after a dose of heroin, Loki claims to be feeling right as rain again.

And so begins one of the happiest stretches of existence in Thor's recent memory. With the agreement that they both want the same thing from each other, there is more openness between them, more intimacy, than Thor had ever previously thought possible.

There is barely a time when they are not touching one another, barely even sexually most of the time. Loki will curl up against Thor as they watch television, will card his fingers through Thor's hair and press bags of frozen vegetables to the bruises Thor sustains in the underground fights. Thor helps keep Loki's injection sites clean, swabbing them multiple times a day with antiseptic, keeping track of which spots are still usable and which should be discontinued. He brushes Loki's hair and paints his finger and toenails. Thor gets cross-faded on whiskey and weed and Loki makes magical light shows above their heads to amuse him.

They share the bed, now. And they fuck. One side effect of heroin, and one that Thor hadnt really believed until he had experienced it firsthand, is delayed orgasm. Extremely delayed. Thor finds himself spilling his seed three times to each one of Loki's own orgasms, but Loki doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, “This is the best thing I’ve ever felt,” was the verdict the first time they coupled – because what Thor was doing prior to this… Well, it doesn’t count.

They rut for hours upon hours. The muscles in Thor's thighs and lower back ache, and he feels spent in a way he never has before. He is a fertility god, but Loki is giving him a run for his money. Thor wouldn’t trade it for anything in all the Realms.

Loki, always more adept with Midgardian technology than Thor, finds a way to order drugs off the internet after a batch Thor had brought home for him was laced with fentanyl. It had taken two shots of Narcan and a carefully-controlled electrical surge to bring him back that time, so Thor doesn’t mind the idea of finding a new supplier. Loki is vague about the whole thing, but Thor fights for prepaid debit cards now instead of any actual illegal substances. Loki orders in bulk and it's shipped discretely to the apartment via the archaic means of the United States Postal Service. Life continues.

 

Tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki wants to see the rain. Thor is happy to oblige, and the brothers have a change of scenery.

Loki is standing in front of the window, belt still cinched loosely around his arm, staring out at the mountains in the far distance, at the lights dancing in the sky. “I want to go out there,” he says, turning and pointing. It sounds so innocent, a request that Thor sees no reason to turn down.

He picks up Jarnbjorn, and Loki's gear bag, and a handle of whiskey, and together they tromp down the stairs to the truck Loki had magicked into existence (or simply transported from elsewhere) one day. Out of boredom, he had said.

Magic makes it run. Thor's strange elemental magic, and Thor sometimes wonders if Loki had done such a thing on purpose, to keep his powers from atrophying beyond use. The engine kicks over strangely, and soon they are leaving the neon oasis behind and heading to the open wastes of unending desert.

“Make it rain,” Loki requests once they’ve stopped, well outside of any light pollution or other signs of civilization, as he spreads a blanket in the truck bed and pulls out his gear bag. “Please? I haven’t seen the rain in so long.” Thor is fairly certain the last time it had rained was the day he had murdered Loki's supplier.

Pulling himself into the truck beside Loki, he nods and summons the storm. First he plays with lightning a bit, splaying it like long fingers across the sky, skipping it across the ground in small balls, leaving glass where they land, and lets the thunder rumble through their bones. Then, he opens the skies and pulls down the rain, leaving a small opening in the downpour to keep them, and their blanket, dry. Even so, Loki reaches out to stick his hands in the wetness, pulls his hands across his face and through his hair. There is bliss in his eyes that has, for once, little to do with the chemicals in his system.

“Can you make lightning look like the Bifrost?” his brother asks, very quietly, and when Thor catches his gaze again, there are tears in his eyes. Thor almost refuses, out of principle. He is hurt just as much as Loki is by Asgardia's dismissal of them, of the circumstances they have found themselves in. That it has taken Loki this long to admit his homesickness is no surprise; Thor knows Loki thinks he is the one making the choice to stay away, to lose himself, but the Unworthy knows that Loki has made it so that he no longer has that choice. Even if either of them truly wanted to – and Thor certainly doesn’t, not anymore – they are too far gone to return. Too wrapped up in their vices and addictions and each other to be the gods they once were.

On the other hand, it would be a nice challenge, and Loki is looking at him with such longing… “Alright,” he agrees. He cracks open the bottle of whiskey and takes a hearty swig. Another. Another, and another until Loki is glaring at him impatiently.

It takes concentration, and Thor is only able to glimpse it for a brief moment before his eyes are forced shut to maintain his focus, but the effect… its stunning. He can hear Loki's phone snapping off photos. He can almost feel the Bifrost’s pull, the shift in gravity, the sense of home waiting for him on the other side.

Almost.

* * *

 

Loki wants to leave, after that. Not leave Thor, because that certainly is never going to happen at this point, but leave the desert. Las Vegas. Go somewhere with rain, and water, and mountains, and plentiful heroin and lax laws. Somewhere as far away from both New York and Braxton, Oxlahoma, as they can get without leaving the country. (Because Thor knows, and so does Loki, that for all their supposed lack of a threat, any attempt to move past those ill-defined borders would raise flags).

It is with this in mind that they load up the truck with everything they can fit, and start driving North-West.

* * *

 

It's raining when they reach the Puget Sound. Thor parks the truck at “scenic overlook" pull-off and they both get out. Even in the mist and drizzle, he can see the tears running down Loki's cheeks as he looks out over the water, gripping his elbows tightly. Thor wraps an arm around his brother's shoulders and pulls him close. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks quietly. “Will this help?”

Loki looks up at him, eyes glassy with drugs and drink and misery, and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “This is good. This is new. I… I like new.” Always the changeling, always the shapeshifter. Well, Loki looks and acts just the same here, so perhaps just the change in scenery this time. Thor leans into the small space that makes up their height difference (once, Loki had been a finger-width taller, now he is half a hand shorter), and kisses the side of Loki's head, feeling as though a weight has lifted, and a new one has settled in its place.

They can change as much as they want to. They can go to every town and city and village in this forsaken land, and start over and over and over, and they will still be running from the same things, they will still be themselves. Thor tries out adding his storm to the natural weather system, and lightning brightens the sky over the Sound and thunder echoes off the mountains.

Yes, at the end of the day, it matters little if he has his titles, or his hammer, or his worthiness. He still is himself, and the little gasp of happiness beside him says that Loki is still Loki – and that Loki's plan, explained in such halting desperation what seems like yet another lifetime ago, has really seemed to work. They are not beholden to anything, anymore. And for the first time since dropping Mjolnir onto the moon's craggy surface, Thor feels free.

He stands with Loki on the edge of the cliff, their arms now entwined, and lets the rain soak them through before they get back in the truck and keep driving, towards whatever new-old thing is to come next.

 

-end-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. I'm definitely going to be writing more in this verse - theres a prelude and a sequel sketched out in my head. Thanks for reading!


End file.
